


Refraction

by Angels_Grace



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel Crowley (Good Omens), Angst, Demon Aziraphale (Good Omens), Established Relationship, Fallen Angels, Gabriel is a dickhead, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Mutual Pining, Post-Apocalypse, The Ineffable Plan (Good Omens), Wingfic, reverse au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-10 16:03:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20530739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angels_Grace/pseuds/Angels_Grace
Summary: After months of uninterrupted bliss, heaven finally calls Crowley and Aziraphale to stand before The Almighty's divine judgment. Some angels are less than happy with her decision and play a game of their own creation. Whether the rebels will survive their blessings suddenly seems far from certain





	1. Summoned

It started slowly, with the two of them in a bed, which is precisely how it will end.   


Crowley and Aziraphale were a tangle of limbs and wings basking in the afterglow. Crowley’s face was pressed into Aziraphale's shoulder, utterly muffling whatever sweet nonsense was pouring from his lips. The angel didn't mind. He got the gist of it from the frankly intoxicating love dripping from the demon. He had his eyes closed as he lay back, drinking it all in. He would have been happy to stay like that forever. Just him and his impossible demon.  


Something soft brushed his shoulder and he cracked an eye open to glance at it. He stroked Crowley's hair softly and his vows stopped at once. Aziraphale smiled as he felt the vicious demon pressing up into his hand like a cat. "My dear, you're moulting." He murmured, plucking the black feather from his shoulder to inspect it. It wasn’t just black, it drank in the buttery afternoon light, capturing it and hoarding it away.

Crowley’s face peeked out from Aziraphale’s shoulder, a suspicious golden eye regarding the loose feather coldly. The demon blushed a beautiful crimson at the sight. Angels did not moult, but the fallen variety did. It had always been a source of deep discomfort to the demon. When it had happened throughout the ages, Crowley had preferred to hide himself away, shunning Aziraphale’s company until he had a ravishingly sharp set of coal-black wings once more. It hadn’t happened since they had been together like this. The apocalypse-that-wasn’t was still a recent memory and so was the more overt sharing of their love.

The usual self-imposed isolation had obviously crossed the demon’s mind because He was trying to rationalise the lonely feather. "No ... It can't be. I'm not due for another 40 years." He frowned at the offending feather. "Maybe you just knocked it loose?" He suggested.  
"I promise you, my dear, we weren’t doing anything nearly adventurous for that to happen." The angel smiled, trailing the feather down the demon's nose.   


Crowley huffed and hid his face again. "Don't be embarrassed, love." Aziraphale murmured.  
"M'not. I’m a demon. I dot get embarrassed." He lied "it's just a pain in the arse. I’ve got better things to do than mope around on my own for a month."   
“A month?” Aziraphale frowned.  
“At best.” He sighed  
“We’ve not been apart for more than a few hours since ...” the angel said, trying to remember the last time the demon had willingly left his side. He couldn’t do it. Even during opening hours, the demon would be close by, transforming himself into some kind of acceptable shop pet to sleep away the hours with Aziraphale close at hand  
“Not since the body swap.” Crowley told him.

There had been no trouble from above or below in the last few months, no assignments, no stirrings, no warnings for the use of oddly frivolous miracles, nothing. Still, he didn’t like the thought of leaving the angel unprotected for even a day, let alone a whole month. Aziraphale watched the demon war with himself in silence. They were both distracted by a second feather floating slowly down between them. Crowley’s face shut down quickly as he snatched it from the air, staring at it in silence for an instant.

He rolled away from the angel quickly. "I should go back to the flat." He said quietly.  
"Whatever for?" Aziraphale frowned, he rolled to follow him and put a hand to the demons back, right between where the two wings sprouted. Crowley rolled his shoulders against the touch.  
"It's stocked up ready for this." He sighed, reaching for his sunglasses. Aziraphale frowned as Crowley pulled away from him, snapping his fingers to clothe himself in varying shades of black. Even after the end of the world, old habits died hard.

"Crowley ... Let me come with you." He said, not understanding why the demon was being so furtive.   
"What about the bookshop?" He asked cuttingly. Aziraphale blinked, taken aback by the venom in his tone. He snapped to dress himself, taking a leaf from the demon’s book to save himself precious moments. He struggled to his feet, getting up to follow the demon as he stalked across the room, his wings folding out of sight as he tucked them into another reality.

Another quick miracle had the demon up against the wall, buying Aziraphale enough time to reach him. "This isn't funny, angel. Let me go." He said, struggling against the miracle that held him. Aziraphale held him pinned, gently taking the glasses from his face when he reached him. He tried to look the demon directly in the eye on the eye but he squirmed uncomfortably until the angel took his face in his hands, guiding their gaze together slowly.   
"Damn the bookshop.” he said softly. "It burnt down once and I survived it. I'm sure a month of closure won't kill me. If anything, it ensures no one would try to buy any books." He smiled. Crowley’s lips curled up into an uncertain smile, trying his best to mirror Aziraphale.

"Careful, angel. Someone might think you love me more than those dusty old tomes." He hazarded a little humour.  
"I do." Aziraphale smiled earnestly, silencing the demon for a moment.  
“It won’t be pretty.” The demon said eventually, trying not to meet the angel’s eyes.  
“My love, when are you going to learn that I’m here with you?” He sighed. “Plus, this way you won’t have to worry about me. Which is frankly ridiculous anyway. You forget that I’m handy with a sword. I’m more than capable of looking after myself.” He huffed. The demon laughed and pulled him into a slow kiss.  
  


It was much later when they finally made it to Crowley's flat. It unlocked with a miracle before they were even out of the Bentley, the yellow lines that had been by the curb conveniently rolling themselves away into a drain.  


They both hesitated in the doorway. Aziraphale had been here so rarely that he didn't really know how to be at home there. The only time he had stepped foot in it was after the averted apocalypse, it was the place he had finally told Crowley how he felt. It should reverberate with the love they shared that night, but it was as stark as ever. Everything was sleek and precise, the very opposite of Aziraphale's worn little bookshop. Crowley took his hand and reeled him into the cold space.

"You don't have to stay, angel." Crowley said, feeling his hesitation.   
"Of course I'm staying. Let your wings out love. It's not good to keep them hidden away during a moult " he smiled, trying to keep his mind busy. Crowley pulled a face, but let the wings spread behind himself, stretching them out to their full, magnificent reach. Aziraphale suddenly understood why the space was so vast and empty. It was designed to accommodate his wings being free, with wide walkways around every piece of furniture, all of which sat low enough for a wing to be lifted over with ease.

“I showed you mine.” Crowley smiled mischievously. Aziraphale tutted at his lewdness, but opened his wings all the same. He gave them a prim little shake.  
“You can do better than that, angel.” The demon chided “I’ve seen you flapping around like a great bloody pigeon.” He smiled.  
“It’s undignified. I haven’t actually _flown_ in centuries.” He said.  
“Anything went in Rome.” Crowley said nostalgically. Aziraphale rolled his eyes, but he was glad the demon was back to teasing. It had been a queer drive and the constant respect of the speed limit had Aziraphale more worried than when they broke it. He let his wings beat powerfully as Crowley obviously wanted, luxuriating in having enough space to do so. If he’d tried it in the bookshop, he would have knocked five bookshelves down. A gentle breeze stirred Crowley’s hair at the movement.  
“Tha’s more like it.” Crowley said, heading for the kitchen.  


Aziraphale smiled after him until a flash of green in the next room caught his eye. He soon took the chance to slip away, exploring would be more dignified than trying to arrange himself on the low couch. He found himself visiting some of the plants that had been too large for Crowley to subtly take to the bookshop without admitting outright that he was moving in with the angel. Miraculously, despite not having been watered in almost a month, they shone with life. "Oh, you beautiful things." He murmured. In another room, Aziraphale heard water running like a fountain, it gave him an idea. With a quick glance, the plant mister refilled. He took it up and created a fine moisture in the room that delicately refracted, scattering rainbows across the grey walls in the little room. The parched plants drank up the moisture gratefully. Aziraphale hummed quietly as he went, stroking the leaves that raised towards him like supplicant hands. He had become rather fond of gardening during his time with the Dowlings, though his approach to plant rearing differed dramatically from Crowley’s. "You mustn't listen to him you know. You are all so strong, so lovely, no matter what your leaves are like." He whispered conspiratorially. They bowed their flowers shyly under his praise, much like their master did.   


The hairs on the back of Aziraphale’s neck stood as one. A static filled the room and the fine mist became a fog. One by one, the plants began to shiver. Crowley was nearby, and he was feeling playful. There was no use trying to find a demon as it stalked you, Aziraphale knew. Demons had an occult gift that let them hide themselves almost entirely from detection. Somewhere in his angelic programming, an instinct warned him he was being hunted. An instinct particular to this angel, honed over six thousand years whispered that they were playing a very fun game. 

Crowley was prowling soundlessly somewhere in the room. Little sparks of temptation flickered through the air, Aziraphale could feel them like static. All these years he was supposed to be thwarting these wiles, but here they were used against him in the most delicious ways. He welcomed them. It sent a wicked thrill through Aziraphale, just as Crowley had intended.

He sighed as an arm went around his chest, a hand at his neck pulling him back against the demon's chest as he materialised out of the fog. He didn’t even try to fight him. A velvety purr appeared at his ear and Aziraphale could smell wine already on his breath. It took all of his rapidly depleting self-control to stay quiet. “I thought you said you could defend yourself against demons.” Crowley hummed “Something about a flaming sword...” he added, pressing a trail of kisses down Aziraphale’s neck. He swallowed, cursing himself for it as he felt Crowley’s hand twitch subtly against his neck at the movement. "Nervous, are we?" He hummed.   
“You know what you’re doing, Crowley. It’s hardly fair.” He chided, though there was no will behind his words. He loved it when the demon was like this, when he slipped and got it into his head that he had something to prove.  
“That’s right, you’re new to all this, moulting business. Six thousand years and still time for firsts.” He teased. Despite himself, Aziraphale felt his cheeks heat up.  


Crowley softened against him and spun him around to face him “For a start, you don’t need these.” He said, grinning as Aziraphale’s clothes vanished.  
“Crowley, bring them back!” He whined, pressing closer to the demon shyly.  
“I’ve hung them up neatly and everything, angel.” He promised. “You don’t normally mind showing off for me.” He pouted. Aziraphale couldn’t explain in. He was enveloped in love in the bookshop, utterly at home. In this austere place, he felt exposed, even with the miraculous fog around himself.

“Go through to the bathroom, I’ll be there in a tic.” He smiled, running his hands over Aziraphale’s shoulders.  
“The bathroom?” He asked in confusion. Crowley nodded and he was gone again, a part of the mist. The angel grumbled but did as he was bid, summoning a little cloud to float around him as he moved through the flat uncertainly. It was a relief when he finally slipped into the bathroom. Being an angel, it was a room he had never had much use for, but in Crowley’s flat he found the moniker more accurate than he had expected. The only thing in the room was a bath. At least, it was a bath in the Roman sense. Today’s humans would call it a pool, he supposed.

Water was cascading into a vast mosaic pit at an alarming rate, thundering down in boiling torrents from somewhere on the ceiling. A thick steam was curling up from the surface. Aziraphale stopped the flow and slipped into the pool. He sighed happily as the scalding water submerged him to his shoulders as he sat, back pressed up against the side of the pit. He couldn’t fathom why humans had ever given up such simple pleasures as bathhouses. Something was missing though. In a moment the surface was littered with the most beautiful blooms, the steam releasing the natural fragrances from the petals in the most exquisite bouquet. The angel hummed, utterly content.  


His eyes were closed when Aziraphale felt Crowley creeping up on him again. There was only the faintest whisper of water moving against skin, but it was enough to prepare the angel for the arms that wound around him. When he opened his eyes, he saw a frankly startling number of dark fathers already mixed among the flowers, dislodged by the weight of the water. He reached out and gently plucked one that hung off Crowley’s wing at an uncomfortable angle. The demon said nothing, just watched Aziraphale navigate the uncharted territory.  


Aziraphale smiled a private smile as he twirled the feather between his fingers. “What should I do with it?” He asked, studying the perfect shape from tip to tip.  
“I normally burn ‘em” the demon said distastefully. Aziraphale made a face and Crowley moved to pin him against the side of the bath, snatching the feather quickly. “Although, I did give one as a gift once...” he smiled archly.  
“You did? To who?” The angel demanded. The demon laughed at the jealousy on his sweet angel’s face.  
“I don’t think I’ll tell you.” He smiled. Aziraphale huffed and tried to get up but the demon straddled him, pinning him playfully in the corner.

“Ask nicely.” He said, teasing the feather over Aziraphale’s chest.   
“Please, Crowley. Tell me who it was?” He hummed, stroking the demon’s calves slowly.  
“Your old flame, Mr. Shakespeare.” He smirked.  
“You never!” He smiled.  
“I did, made it into a quill, told him it was from one of her highness' black swans. I told him to write his next gloomy one with it. I thought you the idea might get you hot under the collar. It didn’t take much to get you flustered in those days.” He smirked, trailing the feather lower. Aziraphale made a small noise in the back of his throat, eyes suddenly hungry. 

The moult had been fast, faster than Crowley ever experienced. Part of him supposed it was because Aziraphale finally had an excuse to run his greedy fingers through the feathers without being bitten. Normally a little patch of feathers would fall and regrow before the next fell, leaving pink little patches in his hellish raiment. It was a boring and lengthy process, but the irritation that usually accompanied the moulting was absent, as was the regrowth of feathers. 

After only a week, the last feather fell from his plumage. He had locked himself away for six hours when the last feather had fallen, with no sign of being replaced. He had sulked until he realised his snake-like nature was amplified by the lack of feathers. His temperature had plummeted dangerously and he hadn’t been able to stop Aziraphale vanishing the door between them. The angel didn’t even look disgusted at the bare, bat like wings that greeted him. He simply crawled up onto the bed and held him against the warmth of his body, gentle fingers running over the wings as reverently as if they had been the snowiest white.

The angel had tried everything he could think of. He had tried to heal Crowley, but of course his vessel was in excellent health, so he had only succeeded in making his hair grow back down in to loose, shoulder-length waves. He had prayed, he had miracled black feathers until the bedroom was overrun with them, he had even tried to bless the demon, who had hissed like a bucket of holy water was being upended over him. In the end all he could do was hold him and watch for the slightest sign of a feather sprouting. After another week of this watchful waiting, he started to grow concerned as the demon seemed to recede into himself.

On the sixteenth night of the moult, Crowley sat up in bed sharply, straining his ears. Something was moving close to him. He glanced at Aziraphale, who was breathing deeply in contented sleep. He closed his eyes, focusing on the sounds of the houseplants shivering in the next room. There was nothing out of the ordinary. “Stupid demon.” He sighed, shivering as the night air nipped at his bare wings. He slid back down into the bed, pressing close against Aziraphale’s soft warmth.  


Then, to his surprise, he heard Her. "Hello Crowley." She said. It wasn’t a voice in the normal sense. It wasn’t carried in waves on the air, it wasn’t even using words. It was a pure intention, placed gently but firmly in his mind by his mother. It vibrated through him, all the love and contentment that he had lost so long ago. He felt himself taken in her hands and inspected without ever leaving the bed. A warmth spread through his being, radiating from him.  
"Lord?" He gasped, though really there was no mistaking Her. His voice croaked, so clumsy, all that tongue and teeth and airflow to manage. What an inelegant mode of communication.

"You've done so well Crowley. No matter what I asked of you all these years, no matter what I put you through, you performed admirably. It's time for your reward." She whispered in his mind.  
"But I have Aziraphale." He said in confusion "I always suspected that him loving me, that was my reward. I don't want anything else." He said, watching the angel beside him stirring. The Almighty laughed.  
"You and Aziraphale, that's all you. I wish I had planned it though; it makes so much sense. This is a reward for the both of you really. It will grant you protection." She said warmly. Crowley paused to consider this. His angel’s safety was what kept him awake at night, his fear and his possessiveness weren't nice for either of them. What would it be like if they just... Went away?  


"What is this reward?" He asked, staring up at the ceiling only because he knew she was everywhere, and it was as good a spot as any.  
"Wake Aziraphale, step through the portal and find out." She said. At the very edge of the bed, a portal began to etch itself into his floor, a glowing white light slowly starting to seep through the strokes of it.  
"But... My wings... I won't be able to fly up." He admitted, trying to hide his wings even further from her cosmic view, it was shameful.  
"Don't you worry about that, Raphael." She said kindly.


	2. Raphael

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His eyes glowed, as though lit from within, then his whole corporeal form unfocused and billowed, like light on water. His true form unfurled itself slowly, stretching its mountainous planes for the first time in almost six thousand years...
> 
> Crowley and Aziraphale return to Heaven at a divine summoning, ready to face their enemies again,

Aziraphale hesitated at the lip of the portal. Their vessels were prepared for the journey, the proper spells to prevent discorporation looping around them, a film over their clothes and skin. Still, a deep sense of foreboding hung over him. The last time his face had been in Heaven Gabriel had been trying to burn him out of existence.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t swap again dear?” He asked. Crowley took his hand and glanced him over his sunglasses. “It was definitely Her, Aziraphale. She promised us protection. I thought she didn’t go in for lies.” He said.  
“She doesn’t, not even when the truth is so unpalatable.” He said. They were both thinking of the ark, Aziraphale’s greatest shame. Even then she hadn’t shied from the horrific truth she was inflicting. Crowley squeezed his hand more firmly. “How odd it is that I shouldn’t trust her. I really am a defective angel.” He mused, staring at the pure, colourless light that shone like a pillar from floor to ceiling without illuminating a thing in the room.

“Angel … She’s waiting for us.” He said, his nervous energy starting to build.  
“Alright love, you’re ready?” Aziraphale asked. Crowley nodded and stepped into the light. A sensation ran through him like missing a stair. His stomach surged upwards as his body plummeted. Aziraphale found himself yanked into the tunnel of light as Crowley fell. His hand tightened on his demon’s as they toppled.

As he looked down, he could see Crowley’s wings battling uselessly against the airless void, extending to breaking point behind him. With a huff, his own wings splayed. They reached their full span, complaining against the weight of Crowley’s soul in combination with his own. They were falling, the both of them together. He beat against the air quickly, managing to stop their descent but never seeming to pull them any higher. No matter how hard he pressed, each feather straining to bear them upwards.  
“Aziraphale!” Crowley panted, fear in his eyes as he looked up at the angel. “She said I would rise!” He gasped.   
“And so you shall.” Aziraphale promised. Heaven was a long way above, and he didn’t want to think of what lay below.

His eyes glowed, as though lit from within, then his whole corporeal form unfocused and billowed, like light on water. His true form unfurled itself slowly, stretching its mountainous planes for the first time in almost six thousand years.

Crowley’s eyes widened in wonder. He had seen Aziraphale’s true form only once. Time and fear had eroded the memory. It was so much easier to think of Aziraphale as soft, bumbling and refined. This creature was The Principality Azerapheal, Guardian of the Easterne Gate. It glowed the same storm-tossed blue of his corporeal form’s eyes. A protrusion of pure energy scooped Crowley up and held it to an approximation of a chest. Only an approximation, for there was nothing human about the angel now. It opened wings that eclipsed the eternal void they fell through and hundreds of eyes beset against celestial feathers opened as one. They saw all the way through him.

BE NOT AFRAID. The angel spoke into his mind.   
“It’s you.” Was all Crowley could say in honestly. In this form, Aziraphale terrified him as he had at the eastern gate. A being of pure, crackling power, standing sentinel miles high, a sword of flame decimating and smiting the legion Beelzebub had sent to attack the garden. How could he forget this power? How could he ever have teased Aziraphale for being weak when all of this was contained in his prim little body? Crowley was an ant to him, an ant he had been under orders to crush from day one.

The angel beat its wings and they were propelled upwards, not in the dainty, cherubic manner theologians might have expected, but as an arrow from a bow. They moved with deadly speed, with calculated purpose. The small circle above them grew larger and larger until Aziraphale propelled them into the endless halls of Heaven.

Gasps ran around from the angels assembled, all neatly pressed into corporeal forms. Rank on rank took aim with spears of light, pure bolts of energy that would have put Zeus on his cloud to shame. Without a doubt, Aziraphale could have decimated them all, even without his sword.

A space cleared for him to alight and he gracefully put Crowley onto his feet, a tendril of light still looped around his hand. As Aziraphale shrank back down and the light receded to his eyes, then faded, the tendril became an arm and then a hand, linked defiantly with his own. Once he was in his human form Aziraphale tugged at a perfectly level bowtie. There was silence in the hall. “I’m sure you’ll forgive my appearance. It seems your lift was out of order.” He said calmly, radiating a power Crowley had rarely seen from him. It was pure heresy. The demon smiled.

Every eye in the room was on their entwined hands Crowley knew, and as long as Aziraphale held it, a sense of peace that he knew to be entirely unnatural pervaded him. He welcomed it, sidling closer yet. Cockiness was one thing, but one demon surrounded by the legions of heaven, spears poised, was enough to make you break a sweat.

“Of course, Aziraphale. You’re a sight for sore eyes in whichever form you choose to assume.” Michael said cordially. On a platform raised above the ranks stood the archangels Michael and Gabriel, and on a platform beneath them sat Uriel and Sandalphon.   
“Some animals are more equal than others…” Aziraphale murmured, eyeing the arrangement with distaste.  


“Stand down everyone. You’re a welcoming committee, after all.” Gabriel ordered, his best attempt at friendly stamped on his face. A few confused glances ran between angels, but they obeyed as one, taking up a deferential pose. Aziraphale relaxed imperceptibly as the weapons ceased to be.

“We were summoned by The Almighty, are we to expect a counsel with Their Holiness?” Aziraphale asked the room at large.  
“You are called here for judgement Aziraphale, divine judgement which will be delivered by The Metatron.” Michael informed him.  
“Ah … of course.” He said, pulling Crowley ever so slightly behind him. “Why now? Why not the day after you tried to burn me?” He asked. Again, a shiver of whispers ran around the room. So that hadn’t been common knowledge. _Oops_, he thought sarcastically. Gabriel laughed uncomfortably.  
“Crowley! You’re uncharacteristically quiet.” He commented.

Crowley cleared his throat uncomfortably, not really sure what to say. Aziraphale squeezed his hand gently. “Been one Hell of a day.” He said eventually, forcing the corner of his lip to tug up in a signature smirk. Aziraphale had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself laughing at the blasphemy of it.   
“Quite.” Michael said sharply, obviously thinking of their last run in with ‘Crowley’. Aziraphale remembered the smugness on her face as she poured the holy water, her shock as she miracled a bath towel into existence. It gave him a deeply unangelic, savage joy.

“Is there to be a trial of some sort?” Aziraphale asked mildly.  
“In the antechamber to your right. We’ll be along shortly with The Metatron.” Michael said. Aziraphale gave a deep bow that was more of a mockery than a respect. Crowley gave a half-hearted salute and followed Aziraphale through the doorway that had appeared beside them.  


Once the door sealed behind them, Crowley laughed. “Angel, if this is a side effect of you wearing your true form you might have to do it more often. You’d not have half so much trouble from the customers.” He smiled. Aziraphale blushed at the praise   
“Just keeping up appearances as a scary rebel, I’m still your Aziraphale.” He promised.

“My Aziraphale.” He echoed, no small amount of wonder in his tone. “Do you think they’re going to apologise for the whole cloak and dagger?” He asked.  
“It’ll take more than a promise of good behaviour for me to leave here feeling protected.” Aziraphale admitted.

Another door that hadn’t been there before opened and a row of high-ranking angels dressed in robes of pure white filed into the room, forming a loose circle around them. At the very end of the chain came The Metatron. This was perhaps the first time he had left The Almighty’s study in his existence. He didn’t look impressed by his sojourn. “Demon Crowley.” He greeted him “Principality Aziraphale.” They each inclined their heads in turn.

  
“The Almighty didn’t mention a dress code.” Crowley said, eyeing the flowing robes with distaste. With the quirk of an eyebrow they were both wrapped in the same robes of glowing starlight. Aziraphale shifted, it had been a long time since he’d donned such a uniform. He felt the constriction of it warring with his new earthly freedoms. Crowley took it less well. “You can’t dress me up like this.” He snarled, tugging at the radiant gown. His glasses were gone, his eyes glowing with anger.

  
“Not to worry. The judgement remains the same. In honour of your achievements in accordance with the ineffable plan, you have completed your mission.” The Metatron said  
“You had a mission?” Crowley asked Aziraphale.  
“Not beyond keeping an eye on the earth and thwarting you…” He frowned.  
“Good job on that last one by the way, Aziraphale.” Gabriel rolled his eyes. Aziraphale just smirked a him. He rather liked not being afraid of Gabriel. The Metatron ignored them all, rising above the bickering of children.  


“T’was not Aziraphale who had the mission, but you.” He told Crowley.  
“I know you haven’t been out and about recently, but I’m a demon. I don’t get missions from The Almighty.” Crowley said blankly.  
“You were not a demon when this mission was given. You were the archangel Raphael.” He said. Silence filled the room. Memories long since silenced rose unbidden in the minds of the archangels as they tried to map what they remembered of Raphael onto Crowley.

  
“I was an archangel?” Crowley asked blankly.  
“You do not remember?” The Metatron asked.   
“I remember the things I did, more like the shadow of a memory than memory itself. I didn’t know my name.” He whispered, looking to Aziraphale. “Did you know?” He asked. Aziraphale shook his head, similarly wide eyed.  
“I was never permitted to see him. Before the rebellion he was always at The Almighty’s side. He didn’t waste his time on lesser angels. When … when the fall happened, I assumed that they would have become one of Lucifer’s … I mean Satan’s generals … I assumed Beelzebub…” he murmured. He was looking a Crowley almost fearfully.  


“Quite. The archangel Raphael was charged to fall, so that the ineffable plan might be carried out. He accepted the mission with a glad heart.” The Metatron informed them.  
“But I remembered nothing when I fell, how could I be carrying out a mission?” Crowley asked.  
“Missions run deeper than memory, deeper than identity, deeper than soul.” He said simply.

“Now that your mission is complete, there is no need for you to maintain this identity. It is time for Raphael to ascend and join his brethren once more.” The Metatron announced.  
”I don’t want to be him.” Crowley said.   
“You would rather stay a demon?” Michael gasped.  
“Well… I finally have everything I want. Hell doesn’t seem to want me, I have Aziraphale, I have the earth. Why would I want to come back up here and work with all of you?” He asked.  
“The honour …” Gabriel began.  
“I don’t need it.” He said “What I need is a quiet life with my angel.” He said.

“Crowley, you’ll be saved. You can’t give that up, not for anything. As long as you’re a demon, Hell can harm you. This is the protection the Almighty was offering. You’ll be an archangel, THE archangel. You can decide what you want to do.” Aziraphale said softly.  
“I don’t know angel, this… it feels wrong. It feels like a trap.” He murmured, touching Aziraphale’s cheek softly. Aziraphale wrapped his arms around him, ignoring the eminent company and their reactions.   
“She wouldn’t mislead you, love; this is supposed to be a blessing so that we can stay on earth together with her protection, isn’t it?” He asked. The Metatron nodded “She sees this as a retirement gift of sorts. You may choose how to spend this life.” He agreed.

“I won’t have my powers.” He said petulantly.  
“You’ll be an archangel. You can have whatever powers you want.” Gabriel sighed.  
“Not the fun ones.” He poured. Aziraphale smiled at his reluctance, knowing that beneath it was because he thought he didn’t deserve to be saved.  
“Oh dear Lord. Can you just do it Metatron?” Gabriel asked.  
“Do not forget your rank, archangel. It has already been done.” He said.

“Wait, what?” Crowley asked.   
“Your soul has been healing for weeks, with the shedding of your demonic feathers it began.”  
“oh … oh that’s why they never grew back,” He breathed.  
“Stay calm love, it’ll be okay.” Aziraphale soothed, reaching for his cheek and hesitating.  
“What?” He asked.  
“Your face is changing. The serpent … the brand is gone.” He said.

Crowley’s vision blurred and a pain went through his head like a shot, He stumbled, Aziraphale grabbing and sinking to the floor with him in his lap. “What was that?” He asked.   
“Your eyes…” Aziraphale murmured.  
“What colour are they? Are they snakey?” He asked. Aziraphale smiled fondly.  
“Absolutely the same yellow, dearest.”  
“Then what changed?” He asked, put out.  
“Your pupils, they’re round.” He said, smoothing his hair back from his forehead.  
  


“Aziraphale?”   
“mmm?” He hummed  
“Are you still going to love me when I’m not a sexy demon anymore?” He asked. Aziraphale laughed.  
“You’ll still be you, my love. You’ll smell a little odd for a while, but I’m sure I can get used to it.” He promised, seeing the angels shift uncomfortably in the corner of his eye.

Crowley lifted a hand to his itching head, feeling his hair slipping well below the shoulders. “Oh no it’ll be like the fourteenth century again.” He whined.  
“A glorious century.” Michael breathed.  
“Yeah you weren’t down there catching the fucking plague every five minutes. The amount of times Aziraphale had to heal me in the fourteenth fucking century…”  
“My dear, maybe not the company...” Aziraphale chided.  
“I’m gonna outrank them all in a minute, I’ll say what I want.” He huffed.

“It’s getting cold.” Crowley whispered after a moment.  
“Demons run hot, my love. I expect you’re cooling down again.” He said.  
“Well, it appears my work here is done.” The Metatron announced.  
“Sorry, did you actually do anything?” Crowley asked, but he was already leaving.

“Angel I feel awful.” He muttered. “Oh, and I’m going to have to think up a new name for you if I’m an angel too, it’ll just seem to self-congratulating.” He said, trying to sit up again.  
“I’m sure you’ll manage.” He smiled.  
“No, that took me centuries.”  
“It took you centuries to come up with the name angel?” Gabriel asked sceptically. “Are we Sure he was Raphael? Smart, created the galaxy Raphael?”

“Look. You fall in love with your mortal enemy and try and come up with an endearment that is completely factual but still makes your burnt soul glow just a little.” He spat, taking in ragged breaths.   
“What’s happening?” Aziraphale asked.   
“Only the wings left now really.” Uriel commented. “You can’t keep holding them in Raphael, they need to be manifested.” They said, as though it were the most boring thing hey had ever witnessed.  
“Call me that again and I’ll fucking smite you.” He promised. The angels drew back at his venom.   
“I can’t get them out Aziraphale, they feel like they’re going to explode. He shifted him so they were kneeling face to face.   
“You have room.” He promised, letting his own wings slip into being behind him, showing him it was safe. Crowley groaned and let them free.

There was a sound like reality tearing as they appeared. “Oh.” Aziraphale whispered.   
“What?” He asked, his face screwed up.  
“There’s … there’s two of them.” He said.  
“I should hope so or I’ll be flapping in circles, like that one you rescued in St James’ Park.” He smiled.

“No Crowley, there are two sets.” He said. He held his hand out and Crowley took it. Aziraphale projected the image of what he was seeing directly into the archangel’s consciousness. Even in that slight bumping of minds Aziraphale could tell it was a demon’s mind no longer. Crowley stretched the wings slowly, learning their span and weight though Aziraphale’s eyes.   
“They’re bigger too. How the hell am I going to get off the ground with these things?” He asked. He pulled his hand away, regaining his usual sight and twisted to stare at the white feathers that coated the wings in a thick plumage. Aziraphale reached out, pausing to glance at Crowley for permission. He nodded and Aziraphale buried a hand in the feathers. Crowley’s old feathers had been slick, but brittle. Aziraphale laughed quietly.   
“What?” He asked.  
“you’re fluffy.” Aziraphale chuckled.  
“Oi! I’m not fluffy I’m a dem-“ He stopped himself, finally feeling the truth of it settle on him. He wasn’t a demon.

“Wait a minute, someone pray to me.” He demanded.   
“We won’t be doing that.” Gabriel sighed.  
“Oh I heard you!” He said, turning back to Aziraphale “Naughty thing.” He added as he peeked in at the content of the prayer.  
“Apologies.” He smiled, enjoying Crowley’s excitement.  
“Oh wait, how did this work again…. I absolve you of your sins.” He said grandly, bopping Aziraphale on the nose. He laughed as the blessing washed over him. Crowley grinned deliriously.   


“What’s a really angelic thing I can miracle, something a demon couldn’t do? A Harp! No wait I used to summon harps all the time.” He sighed.  
“Holy water?” Sandalphon suggested. Before the words had left his lips a pitcher of Holy water appeared in Crowley’s hand. Aziraphale’s smile faltered.   
“It’s fine, watch.” He smiled.  
“Crowley no!” He gasped as he plunged his hand into the glass carafe. Absolutely nothing happened. He pulled it out and flicked the water at him.  
“Good as new.” He whispered, leaning in to kiss Aziraphale gently. Aziraphale pulled back and stared at him tenderly.

“How do you feel, Sir?” Michael asked. It took Crowley a moment to realise he was being addressed. He stood up, taking Aziraphale’s hand and pulling him up too.   
“Good, really good. Can I go see what my true form looks like before I go back down there? I don’t want to knock down the bookshop.” He said.

  
“I’m afraid you won’t be going back to the bookshop.” Gabriel said, the slightest smile playing around his lips. Aziraphale’s heart grew cold. He suddenly knew he shouldn’t have taunted Gabriel earlier. He was paying for it now and he couldn’t fathom how.  
“What is there paperwork to do?” Crowley asked, still not catching up with the sudden shift in the room.  
“All taken care of, but only Aziraphale will be returning to earth.” They shared a panicked glance.

  
“But The Metatron said…” He frowned.  
“What the Lord doesn’t know, won’t hurt her.” Gabriel insisted.  
“I think I’m capable of telling her.” Crowley said, standing to his full height, wings spread aggressively behind him. The lesser angels in the room all stooped lower at the power that radiated from him.  
“You are capable now. But how can you tell her what you don’t remember?” Gabriel asked, tilting his head and smiling innocently. Crowley grabbed his head and roared. Aziraphale watched helplessly as he sank to the floor.   


“Gabriel maybe … maybe we shouldn’t. This isn’t what She wanted.” Michael hissed.  
“If I’m doing it, it’s part of the plan. This is what they did to us at Armageddon. I’m playing their game now. It’s ineffable.” He smiled.

“AZIRAPHALE.” Crowley shouted, the walls of heaven reverberating with it.  
“Just go quietly Crowley, You can’t resist it.” Gabriel promised. Aziraphale was dragging Crowley into his lap again, looking down at him in utter helplessness.  
“I don’t want to forget.” He whispered. “All six thousand years … I can feel him looking through it all.” He panted. “I can’t forget you.” Aziraphale put his hands to Crowley’s temples, feeling the war taking lace inside him. Two archangels battling. He was barely a candle against their burning lights.

  
“Why are you doing this?” Aziraphale demanded.  
“To teach you a lesson Aziraphale. I can take anything from you, like you took the war from me. He’s going to be parading around here, one of us, never knowing he was yours. You’re going to be nothing to him, a worker bee a million miles below him. You’re going to look at him every day of your worthless existence, knowing everything, feeling everything. And he is going to look straight through you.”  
“No.” Crowley panted, but his power was still too weak, still recovering.

“You are finally going to pay for your sins Aziraphale. Act out again and I can send him back where he belongs, the rotten demon that he is. Do you think they’ll let him come and play on earth again if they get their hands on him? Beelzebub promises me not. You won’t get another six thousand years to toy with him. He’ll be gone. I suggest you learn to stay in line.” He growled.

Aziraphale was crying now, pushing against the force that was wrapping around Crowley, but even with the will of an archangel alongside his own, they were losing.

“Aziraphale … I’m so sorry.” Crowley said through gritted teeth, fear in his eyes.  
“No. Think of something!” he begged  
“I love you, angel.” He whispered.  
“I lo-“ Aziraphale was cut off, Crowley launched himself up, kissing Aziraphale long and hard. Something passed through him, a wave of energy containing every memory Crowley could scramble to the surface, every one of them trained on Aziraphale. He went slack in his arms.


	3. Stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The nightmare stole upon Aziraphale as it did every night, it worse than a nightmare, it was memory.

The nightmare stole upon Aziraphale as it did every night, it worse than a nightmare, it was memory.

Crowley was limp in his lap, his eyes unfocused and vacant, everything that made him Crowley scooped away. It had taken Aziraphale’s soul with it. He had only fought as Gabriel grabbed him by the collar and dragged him bodily from Crowley’s side. No matter how hard he fought and bit and clawed, the archangel’s strength didn’t falter. He could see the other angel’s faces twisted in discomfort as they watched one angel torturing another. Nobody stirred to help him. The only one that ever would had forgotten him.

“You will stand and witness your punishment.” Gabriel ordered, pulling him to his feet. Aziraphale felt his body obeying the order, a miracle encasing him in glass. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t scream. All he could do was watch as the figure on the floor, the body he loved with all his might slowly sat up. It blinked in the pure light of Heaven.

“Raphael … you’re awake.” Gabriel said in his most charming tones, as warm and friendly as when he had greeted Mary with the good news. He extended a hand down to the fledgling archangel on the floor, but his eyes were on Aziraphale gloating as he helped _his _love to his feet. Aziraphale wanted to throw himself against the barrier that held him until he was bloodied or it shattered. He had no right to touch Crowley. It sickened him. Gabriel could evidently feel him struggling against his bindings, because he smiled, his little plan working beautifully.

  
Crowley was regal, absolutely flawless in his magnificence. His white robe pooled around his lithe body, his wings held alert behind him, swaying ever so slightly on the celestial breeze that only he was attuned to. His mane of auburn hair cascaded down his back as it had on the very first say they had met. He burnt him with his beauty. He was Raphael.

“Where am I?” Raphael asked in Crowley’s small voice, the vulnerable one that was Aziraphale’s, that he only ever used when he was inexplicably happy or terrified that he had bared too much of himself, his rottenness, to the angel.  
“You’re home from your mission, Raphael. It is so good to see you.” Michael said, inclining her head respectfully. All the other angels stood with their heads bowed to their superior officer.  
“I … don’t remember.” He frowned.  
“You will. No one has ever ascended from Hell, Raphael. There are bound to be side effects … A recovery period. We’ll help you remember what’s important.” Gabriel said. Aziraphale had no doubt he was using that name like a knife, each time it carved deeper into Aziraphale, reminding him Crowley was gone. He had no doubts what kind of memories he would forge for Raphael. “But first, everyone is waiting to greet you again.” Gabriel said, arm sweeping towards a new doorway.

Raphael swept towards it as he was bid, but he hesitated on the threshold. His eyes roving over the room as though he had forgotten to take something with him. Aziraphale could only watch his hand twitch and curl around the empty air. Yellow eyes landed on him, and for a wild moment hope swelled within him. His mind screamed and reached towards the other angel, rebounding against the miracle that held him. Raphael’s eyes did not so much as flicker as they passed him, no recognition beyond that of any other angel standing in the quiet circle.

He disappeared through the doorway, so willingly leaving Aziraphale behind. Gabriel was striding back to him, smiling broadly “Were it in my power, I’d have you fall all the way, but your beloved earth will have to do for now. Enjoy your retirement, angel.” He whispered.  
Aziraphale was plummeting, Gabriel’s laughter warping around him in the wind of the void between planes.

With a blone splintering pain, Aziraphale sat up, grasping his chest as he fought for breath. “Crowley! Cro-“ He caught himself before he could call out again. He was alone. He had been alone for days, or weeks. He wasn’t really sure. He could no longer marshal time into orderly groups of minutes and hours. Crowley had once asked him what he would do with an eternity in heaven, an eternity without him. Aziraphale had drunkenly decided not to face the truth of that question, what a luxury, to sober up and still have Crowley at his side.

Anathema had tried to take him to Tadfield immediately after it had happened. She had felt the shift, the loss of balance in the world with the loss of Crowley. She had sensed the angel’s lamenting all those miles away. In truth those with the gift still reeled with it across the world all this time later. Good, he thought bitterly, they should all suffer with him. Had he not tried to save the humans he would never have to be punished. He would not be alone. She had swept into his bookshop the instant he had crashed into it and she had held him, perhaps for days. It wasn’t enough. Eventually, like a ghost she had left him. There one moment and gone the next. The telephone rang, there were knocks at the door, but they belonged to another world. The living world that laughed and bubbled and sang beyond his windows. In his heart he could feel himself mutating. He could feel a hatred of it all warring with his godly essence, the love that was as much a part of him as his wings. He could not imagine falling to be any worse. The angel he was once was lost.

The bell in the shop below dinged. The door had been locked since Anathema had left him. He knew he should be concerned about a break in, but he simply rolled over in the bed, staring at the spot that Crowley had occupied for those shining months. He traced his fingers along the sheets, trying to imagine the hellish warmth that would have suffused them. The bell on his desk downstairs chimed three times in quick succession, it’s tone higher than that of the door. “Ring for assistance.” Aziraphale breathed, thinking of the little sign by the bell. There would be no assistance for him now. He rolled from the bed, not bothering to don the waistcoat and bowtie that had accompanied him this last century. He didn’t even tuck in his shirt. He moved down into the bookshop in a trance.

“Oh I’m still dreaming.” He murmured, staring at the back of a figure with wild red tresses down their back. He was standing in the middle of the bookshop, staring around with child-like wonder.   
“Angels don’t sleep Aziraphale.” Raphael laughed warmly. “How wonderful this place is … how loved by you, by the community. Last time I was here, there wasn’t a planet. I was working on the sun. I like what they’ve done with the place, these humans.” He said. His speech was still Crowley’s voice, still his quick pace flitting between ideas, but it was all just slightly off. There was no guardedness in him, no swagger that stemmed from centuries of hiding and repressed fears, repressed doubts. He was child-like, utterly innocent. It knocked Aziraphale just off balance enough that he managed to stay on his feet at the feeling that barrelled through him. This was worse than grief, it was the hollow disbelief of necromancy.

Aziraphale gripped the doorframe for support. This was too cruel, to see him here like this, in their home with no memory of it, unable to tell that the residual love he was feeling was his own. “Why are you here?” He whispered, knowing that Gabriel would have sent him with the flimsiest excuse just to pain him more. Losing him had only been the start of his punishment. An eternity of glimpses, each more painful than the last, rolled before him. It was unimaginable. The time he had truly had Crowley for his own would become the barest moment in time, maybe he would even forget it when this new pain dwarfed even six thousand years.

“I’ll be resuming my former role, planetary and celestial affairs.” He said, as if Aziraphale had drawn his wandering mind back to something important. He miracled a little scroll into existence and a pair of glasses appeared on the bridge of his nose. Aziraphale felt his heart stop at the sight of them. They looked exactly like his old ones, but the lenses were clear.   
“Angels don’t need glasses.” He whispered.  
“Hm? Oh not technically, no. I found them lying around. It sort of made me feel complete somehow.” He smiled, going back to his list. “Yeah … so I’m just here to introduce myself really, to let you know that Gabriel will no longer be your line manager.”  
“He won’t be coming here anymore?” He asked, thinking it unusual for Gabriel not to pop down and gloat.  
“No, he’s been reassigned, though I don’t think he was thrilled about it. After the whole snafu with the endtimes, he’s firmly on Heavenly duties.”

“So you’ll just be popping down?” Aziraphale asked, not knowing how he would bear it.  
“Not all that often. I’ll be sending down the lesser angels for your reports, so you needn’t bother coming back to head office unless you have a major incident down here. I might find it useful to check in personally every millennia or so. Yours is one of the more active planets in this system after all.” He smiled, vanishing the parchment again.  
“Of course …” Aziraphale murmured. He made his way to the till and sank into the chair there.

“Can I be candid?” Raphael asked him. He nodded without looking at him. “This seems to be one of the lord’s special favourites, the earth I mean. I’m keen to find out why.” He said. “I feel a powerful draw to this galaxy. Maybe a side effect of my mission here.” He shrugged. “I look forward to your reports.”  


“Right …Well Gabriel simply told me that your orders are to stay vigilant and, well it’s a little embarrassing.” He said, fidgeting with his robes.  
“Gabriel can say nothing to hurt me now.” Aziraphale assured him.  
“Well he warns against you taking up a new consort. Humans are acceptable of course, if a little unusual, but Gabriel feels that your tendency to mingle with demons may interfere with your mission.” He said, discomfort at the thought of an angel and demon _mingling_ as clearly welded into him as any angel. Aziraphale had to bite back a laugh at that. The being chiding him for falling in love with a demon was the demon that had persued him for centuries.  
“Consort?” He asked, wanting to make him acknowledge it that it had ever been real.  
  


“You know … to lie with, to know in the biblical sense. The word Gabriel used was _fraternising_.” He said, wrinkling his nose at the wave of deja-vu the word triggered.  
“Of course it was.” Aziraphale sighed.  
“I’m sure it was very upsetting for you having your last demon put to death, but I’m assured it really was for the best.” He said kindly.  
“What?” He demanded, rising suddenly from the desk. This was the lie they’d told him? Although it wasn’t really a lie. The demon in question was gone, everything that slowly made him into Crowley just wiped away. He had been executed.  
“They told me all about it, bad business really but they couldn’t let you carry on with that sort of thing. People might talk.” He said sympathetically.

“He loved me for six thousand years.” Aziraphale said quietly. “And he’s gone.”  
“Six thousand? That’s a lot is it?” he asked mildly.  
“What?”  
“The thing is time … it wasn’t about when I was upstairs. I don’t remember experiencing it while I was on my mission. I don’t really seem able to get my head around the concept now.” He said apologetically.  
“So you remember nothing from your time …” Aziraphale longed to say _with me_, but he held himself back, instead finishing lamely with “on earth?”  
“No, nor or of Hell… Well that’s not strictly true.” He said.  
“It isn’t?”   
“No. I see flashes, the most random moments of time that I can’t possibly figure out what connects them. Maybe they are all random as Gabriel suggests, but I like to find patterns.” He shrugged.

“Tell me about them? These memories.” Aziraphale asked, trying to supress the hope in him.  
“In one … there is a great ship, and a unicorn runs before it… Childish imaginings of a simple demon mind, no doubt.” He smiled as though he were embarrassed to have taken up Aziraphale’s time with it.  
“No doubt.” He echoed.  
“There is another. It’s rather peaceful, but also so sad. I’m standing on a wall, in the rain. That’s all there is, but I feel so much, more than a demon should be able to feel. There’s lust and confusion, pain and fear. Over it all the most astonishing love. But I stand there alone.” He said, shaking his head in wonder at the memory.

  


“My dear friend … are you well? Your vessel … it’s leaking.” Raphael said, eyes widening as he returned to himself. Aziraphale hurried to wipe the tears away.  
“Quite well.” He whispered.  
“I see.” Raphael said, as though this was part of the deviant behaviour he had been warned to expect of Aziraphale. “I really should get a wiggle on then.” He said, frowning at the expression that had risen to his lips unbidden. Aziraphale flinched like it was the fall of an axe.

  
“Stay for a while, your holiness.” He blurted as Raphael turned to leave.  
“Excuse me?”  
“You could stay on earth a while if you’re so keen to learn about it. I could … show you some of its finer points.” He offered. He knew it wasn’t Crowley, but he needed more time just to stare at him, to drink in those features that had loved him once.  
“A kind offer Aziraphale, but I rather think you should be paying more attention to your duties.” He said tritely.

In a whirl of feathers, he was gone, conjuring up a breeze that flipped the pages of every book on display. From beneath his little couch floated a single black feather, obviously forgotten in the rush to leave for Crowley’s flat. It felt like decades ago, like centuries. With a little, sputtering miracle it floated towards him. He plucked it from the air and sank to the floor in the middle of the room. He twirled it between delicate fingers, a waft of faint brimstone washing over him.

This was his existence now, looking for echoes of Crowley everywhere, a stranger wearing his face, and the loneliness of what remained.


	4. To The Earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was missing something too huge, a piece of the puzzle that would make this beautiful, rotting, ineffable planet complete, something that felt like home when he tried to chase the thought of it...
> 
> Raphael starts to do some investigating when things just don't seem to add up.

This park, it was familiar to him. He could sense the love these paths had been trodden with over the centuries, even before it was a park, he thought he had been here. The same stubborn trees dotted the immaculate lawns. He knew exactly how the light would filter through the leaves of that willow at any given hour, how it differed from its neighbour.

A duck waddled up the back towards him expectantly, and he knew exactly what type of bread it preferred. Something in the back of his mind reminded him in a gentle chide that bread was actually bad for ducks. He summoned a little bag of peas and threw a handful towards the beast. It gave him an ungrateful look, like a child presented with a sprout, rather than a chocolate bar. It picked at the vegetables with disinterest. He felt himself turning to grin at the empty air to his left, almost feeling the warmth of another person there. Again, he felt that shearing pain, like half of himself had been simply cut away.

Who had he shared smiles and strolls with here? His mind wandered to the only other angel in the area. Surely if Aziraphale was meant to be protecting the earth he would have been aware of him so close, barely a stone’s throw from his base. Surely, he would know who had accompanied him. He felt a great sense of foreboding at going so soon to the other angel, who had made his distaste so clear on his last visit. Whatever Heaven had done to his demon, it must have been cruel, the poor creature had looked half fallen himself. No, Raphael knew he wouldn’t go begging for help. He had the sneaking suspicion that whatever he had lost, whoever this person was, they were forbidden to him now.

Still he wanted to know, to just see them and resolve this lingering part of him. If he was to return to service, he had to do it with a clear mind. There must be other methods of obtaining data. He had heard some of the angels discussing earth observation files stretching all the way back to creation. He knew they would hold the answers, but he knew what else they would hold. He would see his demon form, something that was carefully avoided in every conversation, heavy in every glance. His mission must truly have been awful. Such a burden must have been placed on his soul that it embarrassed the others even to mention. He didn’t know if he wanted to see it.

Maybe retracing his vague earthly memories was enough for now.

So Raphael did just that. He travelled this earth that The Almighty so adored and he tried to understand it, understand why it felt as though each atom was stitched into his DNA. He watched the humans bustle through night markets in Brazil, consuming all manner of foods, each scent piquing just a little more of him memory. Paris was particularly difficult for him. He stood on a street corner staring at a patisserie for hours, convinced a memory was about to surface, but it never quite unfolded into his mind, even if jam and powdered sugar seemed to hang heavy on his tongue. The museums of Berlin, quaint as they were to an angel, felt as though he had adored them once, or indulged in a second hand adoration of a kind. He travelled further, the islands of the Maldives, a Japanese Bath house out in Kyoto, A ruin in Syria that called to him, Serbia, Egypt, Ghana.

He walked the earth. He understood. The world was beautiful and ineffable, the children so dear, the animals and plants and mountains so beautiful. He could see the shadows in it too, the rising tides of plastics that licked the shore, the billowing gasses that choked the air, the chemicals that eroded the earth beneath him. He felt the pull to protect them, from themselves, from Hell, and worryingly from Heaven also.

He was missing something too huge, a piece of the puzzle that would make this beautiful, rotting, ineffable planet complete, something that felt like home when he tried to chase the thought of it. He shouldn’t feel this displacement. If Heaven was his home and he was finally returned to it, why wouldn’t this sadness leave him? He shouldn’t find himself having dissociated for hours on end. He shouldn’t be passing out, waking to an anxious Uriel and a foggy mind. He should remember something, _anything_ from his fall, no matter how much pain forgetting spared him.

He didn’t seem likely to find the answer on terra firma. The answer had to lie above, or he was rapidly running out of options.

***

“I was looking through some old earth observation files and I came across something interesting.” Raphael said, crossing through the meeting room with ease, barely considering what he had interrupted. He could see the frustration it caused Gabriel. He had been at the top of the pile for longer than time existed. It must be hard to take the demotion now.  
“Really?” He asked, pushing his features into polite interest.  
“Mmm. There’s your agent Aziraphale and he’s with a demon.” He said carefully, assessing Gabriel’s expression.  
“As infuriating as they are, his proclivities are no secret among a certain class of angel.” Gabriel preened.  
“Well the thing is, this demon looks like me.” Raphael said haltingly. Nobody in the room answered, in fact, they all made use of their distinct disregard for breathing. The silence was total as the archangel’s gaze swept over them.

“I cross referenced the image with the data banks, but all the files that were returned have been altered. Look, there is Aziraphale in every one and then the space beside him, just a blur.” He said, projecting the images up onto a pearly wall of the room. There was a cluster of them all overlapping. He sorted through them idly as he spoke, feeling the tension of the other angel’s rising. “And the thing is, I can’t find any record of my demon form. I was down there quite a while apparently, had a role in the ineffable plan. But there’s nothing, no file, no image, no speck of data. I can only conclude that this was me. That I was _his_ Crowley.” He frowned, looking up at Gabriel expectantly. He just kept that same watchful pose, saying nothing.

He stared down up at the image of Aziraphale on a wall, his mind resisting his effort to focus on the shadow beside him. That familiar melancholy stole upon him then, that sad longing. He tilted his head and unfocused his eyes. His own memory of a wall sprang up. He was standing in a storm and yet he was dry, He strained the memory upwards and saw pearly feathers shielding him. The two images overlaid in his mind to create one whole. He two of them on a garden wall at the very start of the world.

  
  
“Didn’t you have a flaming sword?” He whispered, hearing Aziraphale reply with a pained ‘gave it away’ as though they were still standing on that wall. Those words shattered him anew, morphed the world and destroyed the binary of angel and demon, they gave him hope. A swell of love he could not dam burst from him. Gabriel and Michael winced at it.

  
  
“Impossible. A demon isn’t capable of love … but I did love him. I loved him for ages … He was _my _angel. _My Aziraphale.” _Raphael said, feeling six millennia of pain and fury, feeling the burn of falling hollowing his bones, shredding his soul. He felt the absence of _Her _love, felt Aziraphale’s rushing in to fill every damaged atom of him.

“How many times do I have to tell you to delete the same paper trail, Michael?” Gabriel sighed, wearied. Raphael turned to face him in surprise. He wasn’t cowed, wasn’t ashamed. He didn’t even have the grace to be afraid of the bristling rage seeping from his superior officer. All manner of torments and tortures flitted across his mind. He wondered if he’d been the one applying them or experiencing them in Hell. All that mattered was how he could subject Gabriel to them.

“All the matching entries were totally erased … they could only have slipped through if they were misfiled.” Michael said primly. Their eyes darted between Gabriel and Raphael, finally, someone was sensibly afraid.  
“Then you find me the angel who is incapable of tagging his files so I can smite him.” He said pleasantly.

The realisation was swift as more and more memories piled into his consciousness. They were coming faster now, blinding him with the scenes that played before his eyes. He did his best to stay standing tall.  
“You … you’ve done this to me on purpose. I’ve already remembered all of this, _over and over. _You keep making me forget.” He spat.  
“I barely stop doing it. You’re taking up too much of my time with this nonsense. I’ve given you a nice life here. You should be grateful.” Gabriel finally rose to the bait. “You’re nothing but a filthy demon and you’re ruling heaven. If you would just stay in your lane you could have all of this.” He shouted.  
“Grateful? You ripped me from him and you expect me to be grateful. Oh Aziraphale, He’s been all alone all this time. He’s suffering. I can feel it.” He said, eyes unfocused as he realised what that constant nagging sensation in the back of his mind was. He had developed a sense of when the angel was in pain somewhere back about Rome. It had alerted him in the nick of time throughout history. He hadn’t remembered his love, but his body had. It screamed at him now, letting the demon feel is despair. They were all silent.   
“you’ve hurt him.” He said, rounding on Gabriel._  
_“Now Raphael …” Gabriel began but he looked up at him with enough venom to silence him.

“My name… is Crowley. You are going to regret this, Gabriel. I’m going to pull you apart feather by _fucking_ feather.” He promised.  
“So you told me the last time you remembered and the time before that and the time before that, but so far I’ve survived. Crowley’s corporeal form shimmered dangerously, ready to disintegrate to free the true form beneath.

"Oh Crowley. How many times are we going to do this?" Gabriel smiled. Crowley snarled at him like no angel had ever snarled, muscles coiled ready to pounce for the other archangel. before he ever got the chance, Gabriel clicked his fingers and he fell to the floor in a tangled heap. The angel’s around him gasped, feathers ruffling uncomfortably. They had all agreed reluctantly to Aziraphale’s execution. It was for the greater good after all. This was different. Angel’s had fallen for less. Gabriel was _Rebelling._

"When he wakes up, he'll be Raphael again." Gabriel said, bored by the already too familiar routine.   
"His memory regeneration. It's getting faster each time. If The Almighty wanted him ignorant surely she could do it herself, make it permanent." Uriel said dispassionately, observing the ball he had formed on the floor. "This seems overly cruel of Her.”  


"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear a word of that." Gabriel snapped. "Get him to his quarters before he wakes up."  
"What am I supposed to tell him?" She asked.  
"The same as you always do, it's a side effect of ascension, no one has ever done it before, the process is unprecedented, yada yada yada." Gabriel flapped his hand at her dismissively. Uriel raised the limp form with a miracle and bore it away as she was told.  


“His mind won’t last many more of these. They’re getting closer and closer together. He will remember it all.” Michael said, eyeing the files still hovering in the air around them.  
“I don’t care if he ends up simple. It would be safer for us all that way. He just needs to function without drawing attention.” Gabriel snapped. Threats from the Crowley/ Raphael abomination were easy enough to weather, but open dissent would not be stood for.

  
“What about when the Almighty realises he’s been here, not earth with Aziraphale?” They said.  
“I ordered you never to use that name.” He breathed, flicking the files away so he didn’t have to look at his smug, glowing little face. His only reassurance was that the bastard was suffering now.  
“The Almighty won’t notice, not for eons. If she does, we’ll just plant in a memory of him choosing to work at head office. Hopefully by then there won’t be anything for Crowley to go home to.”  
“She will ask him about … about the traitor though. She was very clear she wanted them to be left in peace together.” Michael persisted boldly.  
“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” He muttered, feeling the first stirrings of unease.  
“She knows everything Gabriel, and she doesn’t suffer disobeyed orders lightly.” They reminded him.

“I am doing what is best for this family, Michael. The Lord will see that. I’ll be rewarded for my ingenuity.” He snapped, it sounded delusional even to his own ears. They stayed calm, assessing him distantly.  
“Answer me this. How long has it been since the Ascension?” They asked  
“Two months?” Gabriel said uncertainly.  
“And how many times has he remembered enough to be screaming for his soulmate?”   
“Thirteen.” He answered tightly.  
“And are his powers growing?”  
“Yes.”  
“Then on occasion 20 or 95 or 260 or 437, how will you have the strength to stop him? You replaced him Gabriel. When he’s at full strength you won’t stand a chance.”  
“Get. Out.” He ordered tensely. Michael dipped their long neck in a bow and left the chamber without a word.

When he was alone, he pulled up a live observation feed. Aziraphale was moving through his shop in a daze, the prayer circle on the floor exposed, candles lit. He crumpled to his knees beside it, fingers fretting at the edge of the lines. Gabriel snorted. “Pray all you want. He won’t hear you.” He promised. He clicked off the screen and returned to work.

***

In a luxurious apartment in a building that looked like The Shard, Uriel was lowering Raphael into his bed. Normally he slept soundly through these little wipes. This time he was thrashing against his mental restraints. All through the firmament, electricity crackled and a metallic scent filled the air, pure Wrath. This would end badly for all of them, this was not part f the plan, not what The Almighty wanted. Uriel made a decision that was both treason and loyalty. The duality frightened her, it should not be possible and she certainly should not be doing it to help Crowley and Aziraphale. She thought uneasily about the time she had harmed Aziraphale, before the war that wasn’t. if she did this, Raphael would remember, and it would be her head on the block. It would be better than falling when The Lord discovered their work.

“Sir?” She whispered, rousing him with a minor miracle. He groaned as he sat up, the Heavenly storm around the tower abating.  
“Happened again did it?” he frowned.  
“Sorry?” She chirped, panic stricken.  
“Me conking out.” He said, scrubbing his face with a fist. He hadn’t noticed her slip.

  
“Sir, there’s something you need to know. Something isn’t right.” She breathed.  
“Where?” He frowned, assuming one of his projects was failing, something he could care less about with the pain thumping in his mind.  
“In Heaven, Sir. There’s … There’s a plot.” She stuttered.  
“what kind of plot?” He frowned, a cold fear spreading over him. He had fallen when a plot had last been hatched in Heaven.  
“A plot against you, Sir. A mutiny.” She admitted.  
“And you’re telling me because?” He asked.  
“A little mutiny of my own Sir, for the greater good.” She said, eyes downcast.

“What can I do?” He asked. She raised a finger to her temple, pulling a golden thread that wavered like ink on water away. She hesitated before she held it out to him.  
“You can remember, Sir. And say nothing to Gabriel. I won’t have the courage to defy him again. I can’t give you all the memories, you’ll need to find them on your own. It should be safe to give you this one though, Sir, to start you off.” He searched her eyes for a long moment and inclined his head. She raised the memory to his temple, letting it merge with his mind. She watched as the archangel fell very, very still.


	5. Crowley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What was he to me?” He asked, bumping up against the fog in his mind, the sections that had been obscured and carved away time after time, tight knots of scars covering more than the faintest recollections. "Everything.” Uriel answered simply....
> 
> Crowley manages to surface with the help of a reluctant mutineer, but as his memories return, he realises Aziraphale is in danger.

The tableaux was all at the wrong angle. Even with damaged memories, Crowley knew he shouldn’t be able to see himself curled on the floor from a distance. He was seeing the whole event through Uriel’s eyes, reliving her memory.

An angel was leaning over him, sobbing. His face was hidden against the wavering archangel’s chest, but his blonde curls shone in the Heavenly light. Even to someone with no recollection of him, he was unmistakable. _Aziraphale. _The name came from him reverently, like a prayer he had been terrified to whisper for centuries for fear of retribution, divine or demonic.

Something clicked into place in his mind. Aziraphale was important_. _He watched as he pushed himself up on shaking arms to kiss the angel severely, silencing the vow the other was making. He watched, seeing himself flicker out of consciousness like a mayfly. The angel above him was utterly defeated. He watched Gabriel drag the weeping angel away, unmoved by the lacerations he inflicted on him, pathetically trying to scrabble back to the body in the centre of the room. He called his name, begging him to wake up. He felt a pull in his soul, trying to obey him even now, after all these months. He didn’t fall silent until Gabriel encased him in a miracle. He watched Raphael rise, leaving Aziraphale behind without a glance. He watched it all, as Uriel had, without lifting a finger to interfere.

The memory cut off abruptly, spitting him back out into the minimalist interior of his celestial suite. “Give me the rest of them.” He demanded, seeing Uriel pull back as the air crackled around them.  
“I can’t. It’s dangerous enough to give you one.” She breathed, his wrath curling around her much like he would have twisted a temptation in the old days. Pure instinct trying to reconcile the desperate parts of his scattered identities. He wasn’t anyone just now. He wasn’t archangel or demon, Raphael or Crowley. He was something unknown, something that lurked in the area between. He had all of the ingenuity of Hell and the Power of Heaven. Uriel had never in her existence been frightened, but she felt terror now.  


“Dangerous? If it comes down to Gabriel or me, I can assure you I’m the greater threat. He isn’t quite as creative as me. Besides, he won’t be drawing breath much longer.” He purred, baring his teeth, still slightly too sharp for an angel.  
“No, it’s dangerous for you.” She said. “Look again, what are you feeling in that memory?”  
“Pain. Hatred. Grief.” He answered without reassessing the image.  
“No you aren’t. That’s what you’d feel if the memory was your own, but it’s mine. My emotions.” She explained. He thought again, seeing himself and Aziraphale on the floor from someone else’s eyes. He was filled with a sense of deep discomfort, of shame. He understood, any memory he took from her would be accompanied by her feelings about it.  
“I have seen the original files of the two of you together but … My emotions were less than kind. If I give them to you, you’ll only feel disgust when you see them. Maybe it would stay like that for ever. Maybe it would taint how you feel about him.”

He didn’t know if it was possible to be disgusted by Aziraphale, he didn’t have enough data. If Aziraphale was the source of that broken loss within him, the thing that seemed to make his existence worth continuing, then he didn’t want to take the risk.

  
“What was he to me?” He asked, bumping up against the fog in his mind, the sections that had been obscured and carved away time after time, tight knots of scars covering more than the faintest recollections.  
“Everything.” Uriel answered simply. He nodded. He couldn’t doubt the truth in her answer.  
“Then I need to remember everything. I need to remember him.” He said, rising to his feet. He replayed the image of himself kissing the angel, there was something so familiar in the gesture, something so charged that he knew it was out of the ordinary. “I left them with him, my memories.” He realised. Was he a romantic, he wondered, to leave his memories on someone else’s lips to be reclaimed later?

His robe pooled around him, weighing him down. He hissed at it in frustration. He snapped his fingers and it was replaced with a suit of black cotton. Uriel raised her eyebrows.  
“What? Feels more like me.” He said.  
“And it looks very much like Crowley. You need to keep a low profile, Sir.” She said. He looked down in distaste as the suit faded to an acceptably light shade of grey. A miracle of her own.

“Where to?” He asked.   
“There’s only one place that the untampered records would be kept, Michael’s office.” She murmured. “They’re totally impartial. Maybe if you saw a few it would trigger your own memories. That’s what happened last time.”  
“Lead on.” He drawled, watching as she overcame her discomfort to comply, stiffly leaving the chamber behind her.

He followed at a careful distance, looking down at the holographic tablet she had pressed into his hand. All the archangels sauntered around Heaven like this. It made them look like they were much too busy to stop and chat, holy missions to complete, much too important to dwell on lesser angels. _Wankers. _It did the job. Other angels swerved out of his path, only seeing Raphael in a storming temper as he strode about the shining halls, attendant in toe.

The guards at Michael’s door didn’t even blink as he pushed open the door and stepped in. He wondered what the point of guards was in Heaven, especially when they just let people swan in unannounced. He jumped away from the thought quickly. If they made a move, he would have to silence them quickly. He was surprised to find the thought that Aziraphale wouldn’t be happy if smote a pair of angels simply for doing their job.

The room’s carefully maintained regency study was fussier than Crowley might have expected from someone as no nonsense as Michael. It reminded him of something. The dilapidated back room of a bookshop, a lumpy brown sofa that was comfier than it looked, a hand pouring him a drink. He blinked the memory back. The office was unoccupied.

Uriel was already at the interface on the desk, pulling out files and swiping them through the air until they swarmed around him. “One at a time!” He snapped.  
“No time. Michael’s meeting isn’t due to last long. Suck it up, you’re an angel now.” She said, still adding more pictures to the maelstrom. He sucked in a breath and focused in on the images, fighting to keep himself present enough to drink more in. He saw Sodom and Gomorrah, He saw Shakespeare’s globe, a damp field in Wessex, he saw the interior of countless taverns and pubs and swish restaurants. He saw himself staring up at the stars with serpentine eyes, such wistfulness on his features.

Every time he caught an image, it would call up a blurred echo in his own mind. It was like playing spot the difference at the speed of light. The difference was always the same. His outfit changed over the centuries, as did his expression, softening and expanding in joy, radiating the most holy love. It was indecent, it overflowed, calling kin to kin. Something in him was awakening. The difference was Aziraphale. He went from a shadow in Crowley’s memory to a real angel, animating the still images with a hesitant frown or a nervous twiddling of thumbs. Uriel was right, he was everything.

  
“You going to drip feed me all six thousand years like this?” He asked through gritted teeth. His head burnt, synapses connecting and pathways reforming. He hoped the memories would be there when he peeked in later. He didn’t have time to smell the flowers.  
“Just the hits, anything Gabriel marked as dangerous for you to regain. There’s no way of knowing what was most important to you though, you’re going to have to live with some gaps for now.” Uriel said, doing her best to give him the turning points as she saw them.

  
  
“That would rather imply that either of you were going to go on living. Immortality can be surprisingly short lived.” Michael’s tone was clipped as they paused in the doorway.   
“Need anything, Sir?” one of the guards asked uncertainly.  
“A retinue with some basic cognitive function.” They snapped. They winced as she regarded them coldly, considering their options. “You’ll forget they were here.” They ordered. The pair of them relaxed, gaze flitting back down the hall as Michael eased the door shut.

“Anyone care to explain what I’m looking at?” They asked, though it was so incriminating that it simply couldn’t be denied. The images floating around him wilted from existence. Hopefully he got everything he needed. Uriel was frozen, hands still buried in the interface on the desk.  
“Just a couple of traitors having a route around. Don’t mind, do you?” He asked, falling back onto a strategy that he seemed to think had helped him in the past.  
“A pleasure as always, Crowley.” They sneered.  
“Not Crowley, not quite yet.” He smiled.  
“Well, normally it takes you a few hours after a reset to get suspicious. You’re outdoing yourself.” Michael commented, moving deeper into the office as though they were totally at ease with the situation. He recognised the bluff in it, saw the kind of person he used to be. It was too relatable to ignore.  
  
“So are you going to call in the big bad?” He asked, already knowing the answer. Michael hesitated. “I believe Gabriel’s handling of the situation has become … unbalanced.” They admitted with discomfort.  
“You can just call him a mental fucking sociopath you know, you’re among rebels.” He teased, Raphael’s sibling-like demeanour struggling to reassert itself over Crowley’s snide nature.  
“I am not a rebel.” Uriel snapped. “If anyone is disobeying orders, it’s Gabriel.”  
“Whatever you need to tell yourself.” He shrugged.

Michael moved to the interface. “What have you given him so far?” They asked.  
“Enough of the wipes to give him a sense of scale, The apple, Alexandria. There seemed to be a spike of emotive content with anything happening in this one park. I thought it might be too volatile…” She mused.  
“Volatile is what we need. You’re being too clinical. The apple isn’t important, it’s what happened immediately after that changed it all.” Michael shot a single image towards him. As soon as his eyes slid over it, he found himself toppling into the memory. He was standing on top of a wall, the first ever storm coming towards him. Water began to fall from the sky and panic gripped his heart. How was he to know it wasn’t holy water, retribution for spoiling God’s brand-new game. He stayed dry. Glancing above himself he saw a protective clutch of feathers splayed above him. He sidled closer to the being beside him. When he glanced, there was Aziraphale, swordless and pensive on the edge of the known world. He gasped, falling to the floor of the office.  


“He’s going to bring the place down.” Uriel hissed.  
“Have patience …” Michael said calmly. A demon can’t love, he though desperately. A demon can’t feel all of this, not without an ulterior motive. It was more than he thought even an angel could bear. His wings extended behind him, all four of them stiff with the pain of six thousand years of longing and denial, spite and enduring, growing love. The floor of the office was dust beneath him, dust of the desert surrounding Eden, dust that was all that was left of every human he had jealously swiped his angel away from, dust of every ruin they had ever visited. He would turn Heaven and earth to dust before they took Aziraphale from him again. He snarled, a low, rumbling that ripped the air itself apart.

“His true form!” Uriel whimpered urgently, cringing behind the desk.  
“Now Crowley, if you lose control now Gabriel will find out.” Michael chided him, though they too were keeping the desk as a safe barrier between them.  
“Let him come.” He hissed.  
“Are you going to let your pride get in the way of returning to Aziraphale?” They prompted. He warred with the cold knowledge of Gabriel’s betrayal and the drive to protect an angel he didn’t know. There was no competition, Gabriel would have to wait. He sucked in a breath and instantly his corporeal form stabilised. Michael smiled with satisfaction.

Something began to hiss in the back of his mind, a discomfort that crept along his skin, rapidly building into a current of unspent energy. “Michael?” He asked uncertainly, looking at his hands that were still gripping the floor.   
“I didn’t think you meant it literally.” Uriel frowned.  
“He wasn’t capable of this as a demon, it’s amplified now. He’s back to full strength.” Michael said deferentially, taking a half step back.  
“What’s happening to me?” He panted as the feeling grew to a nausea no angel should be capable of succumbing to.  
“You developed a sense for when Aziraphale was in trouble when you were on earth. You gave up some of your demonic senses to make room for it. It’s troubled you once or twice while you’ve ben here, but never this severe.” Michael informed him.

The energy built steadily, feeling as though it was about to take control of him. “Get me to earth. Now.” He spat, pulling himself up to his full height.

Michael snapped their fingers and the floorboards twisted, their new arrangement creating the marks of a portal. It glowed to life instantly.  
“The bookshop?” He asked. They shook their head.  
“He isn’t connected.” Michael told him, coming to join him at the edge of the light.  
“Well connect him.” He growled.  
“We can’t, it’s a stipulation we agreed to when he warded the building centuries ago, something about angels teleporting in and scaring the customers. Now we all know it’s so we couldn’t barge in when you were visiting. This will put you down outside.” They promised.

Uriel gasped and looked up from the interface. They both looked sharply at her, but Crowley already had a foot in the circle.   
“Gabriel is in your chamber; he sensed the memory transfer. He knows. The battalions are being called.” She whispered.  
“Go.” Michael said sharply. “We’ll keep him occupied for as long as we can.”  
“How?” He asked.  
“You’re not the only archangel with a grudge to settle.” They smiled at him. With a sweet smile, they made his choice for him. Their hand shot out, pushing him into the funnel of light.

The office around him dissolved into a vortex of earth tones as he was spat from Heaven. A panic stole over him, paralysing him as a memory surfaced. He was burning, his feathers peeling away behind him as he battled uselessly. He was calling for Her, but the winds stole the sounds from his lips.

That same sensation on his skin pulled him back to reality. He was gliding down at a controlled pace, London unfurling beneath him. He was almost there when he heard voices above and a tremulous roaring. He twisted to see the grey malevolence of Michael’s true form glaring down at him, Uriel’s periwinkle forest green form flittering around it, dwarfed. The portal suddenly closed and Crowley was falling fast.

Another memory jolted him, an immense blue angel, a principality, terrifying in its power. It was hauling him upwards. His wings beat in time with the memory, slowing his decent just enough to land him on his feet.

Thankfully he’d landed in an alleyway uninhabited except for a rat. It looked utterly unperturbed by his arrival, both of its little hands resting on top of a crumpled coke can. Sigils were scorched into the cobbles around him, and the smell of ozone was thick on the air, masking the less than pleasant natural odour of the alleyway. Evidently this was a one-way trip. He smoothed out his suit and stepped out onto the street. Directly in front of him stood the flaking terra cotta paintwork of A.Z. Fell and Company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is so angsty, but we're nearly there. The last few chapters are written and I should be releasing them staggered with my college AU project. Thank you for sticking around.


	6. Aziraphale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley just gaped at him, this was not the broken angel he had seen in Uriel’s memory, but neither was it his Aziraphale. It was as cold as any other angel in heaven...
> 
> Crowley has remembered just enough to seek out his angel, but it may be too late.

The bell sounded as the book shop door opened. Aziraphale was sitting at his desk in the back room, writing a letter when he heard it. He folded the letter carefully and, in lieu of a name, he wrote ‘To Whom it May Concern.” In a flowing cursive on the reverse.

Really it was for Crowley, but he knew that Crowley was gone, that if anyone found it, it certainly would not be him. Miraculously, none of the wet ink smudged. It was the first miracle he had worked since he had really given up on getting his demon back to him. He mused it may well be one of the last.

The bell at the front desk dinged petulantly. Aziraphale laid down the black feather quill precisely beside the letter and rose to his feet. He pulled himself together as best he could to give the would-be customer a disparaging look. He could have sworn he locked the door, but that didn’t seem to stop anyone these days. Another miracle and all trace of his recent guest was gone, save for the wine bottles.

He shouldn’t have been surprised at the sight that awaited him, but he still let himself slip, just for an instant. "Cro... Raphael." He corrected himself quickly. Even that instant of thinking of this creature as his Crowley would burn him. He knew from experience. "What are you doing here?" He asked, looking back into the office at his letter. What would he say, this archangel, if he read it? It wouldn’t mean a thing to him, Aziraphale knew.

The pain wasn’t so bad now that he knew it was nearly over. But then Raphael tilted his head slightly and it struck him anew. It was too much to bear, seeing this stranger in a skin he loved so much. The little differences hurt him the most, the neatly parted hair, the missing tattoo at his temple. Worst of all, those clear glasses with bright yellow eyes beneath. They were so familiar, yet so alien. The pupils were round as opposed to their old serpentine slits.

"Aziraphale we need to talk." He began, but he was cut off. There was something knowing in his eyes this time, just enough to make Aziraphale think his memory of his recent visit was still intact. He blushed fiercely. That was new. Of course Gabriel would allow him to keep memories of Aziraphale throwing himself at the other angel. It was humiliating.

"No, I believe all that could possibly have been said on the matter, has been. You've been perfectly clear. Regrettably, so have I." He said firmly.

"You don't understand, Aziraphale." He sighed, looking a little confused.

"No. Because I'm an imbecile who loves humans and demons and could not possibly fathom the workings of your mind, archangel." He spat, heading for the door. "I really would like you to leave. Whatever they want from me, they can have it. I don’t have a reason to rebel anymore, as Heaven well knows. Just have them send Gabriel or someone down for it. He's rather good at delivering messages, I’ve heard." He opened the door primly. Crowley just gaped at him, this was not the broken angel he had seen in Uriel’s memory, but neither was it _his_ Aziraphale. It was as cold as any other angel in heaven. He swallowed thickly, sensing the pain and the recklessness causing his behaviour.

“I’ve been here before, haven’t I?” He asked “Since my first visit, I mean?” He clarified. Aziraphale hesitated before he nodded.

“How many times?” He asked.

“It hardly matters now.” Aziraphale sighed. He was starting to feel faint.

“Why not?” He asked.

“You’ll forget, you’ll come back again like you always do. Next time I won’t be here though.” He said firmly. “I’m breaking the cycle."

“Are you going somewhere?” He frowned.

“No, just going. I found a way to fix it all.” He said. “I’m glad you don’t recall your last visit actually … it got messy. I’d say that’s not how I want you to remember me but …” He gave a humourless laugh. “You won’t remember me at all.”

The usual pain of seeing Raphael was suffocating him. He could feel every touch Crowley had ever laid onto his skin in its absence now. All of his old instincts were still there, no matter how much he had tried to train them away. It was louder than before, like it used to be with Crowley, his own love, his own wants mirrored in every move the demon made. It was magnetism.

As Raphael came close to him, he couldn’t resist the need to tilt his head just so, to equalise their heights to let their lips brush. It was there in Raphael’s body language too. It wasn’t just in Aziraphale’s sense memory, Raphael was joining his gentle dance, turning his body in towards Aziraphale’s, elegant head dipping down on a supine neck. Their lips touched with a force Aziraphale could not have prepared for. He felt himself pushed roughly back to the door, pinned halfway between the mortal world and his bookshop.

His hands went up to Raphael's hair, whether to pull him closer or push him away, he couldn’t say. Aziraphale gave a gasp of confusion. The copper locks of a moment ago were gone, the other angel’s hair was shorn as short as it was when he was taken away. Aziraphale managed to pull away, staring wildly into their eyes. They were as yellow as ever, still with angelic pupils instead of the old black slits. Still he recognised him in there, a spark of mirth in their yellow depths. His Crowley. He’d made it back to him, made it home.

“You never did listen to me, angel.” He whispered, his thumb skating down Aziraphale’s jaw, such a look of tenderness in his amber eyes that Aziraphale whimpered quietly.

“Crowley?” he whispered, barely daring to hope.

“Did you keep my glasses?” He smiled softly. Aziraphale laughed, tears skating down his cheeks. He ran a finger reverently over his high cheekbones. "And the Bentley." He nodded. He leaned into him, burying his face in the archangel’s shoulder.

“How?” He whispered. “So often you were right there on the edge of remembering, but then you came back blank … why now?” He asked, looking up to drink in the sight of that cocky grin.

“I caused a mutiny.” He smiled “I guess I’m falling for you.” He smiled, touching Aziraphale’s nose lightly. The movement echoed somewhere in his mind, like he’d done it before.

A darkness passed over Aziraphale’s face at the words, but Crowley didn’t notice, he was already drawing up his strategy. “I need to borrow your prayer circle. We need to talk to The Almighty before Gabriel figures out I’m here. Last thing I need is to forget again before he gets what’s coming to him. The others are keeping him busy but we can’t delay.” He growled. Aziraphale didn’t answer, a panic was seeping over his face, eradicating the joy of having Crowley back.

Crowley reluctantly started to pull away from the angel when he felt him sway dangerously.

“Woah angel, I’ve got you.” He said, wrapping an arm around him and leading him to the low couch in the back room. "I know it's a shock but I think I can explain. You need to sit down first." As they approached the back room, Crowley taking most of Aziraphale's weight with ease, the angel glanced around. Aziraphale saw his letter sitting on the desk innocently enough, and his grief-muddled actions couldn’t be avoided. His blissful joy was gone in an instant. He crumpled in the doorway, falling from Crowley’s grip. From the floor, he let out a terrible sob.

"Angel?" Crowley asked, panic rising in his tone. Angels did not faint like Victorian ladies at a shock. They didn’t get sick either, but Aziraphale looked positively peaky. His already pale skin was growing drawn and chalky, not the radiant glow Crowley remembered.

“I’m such a fool.” Aziraphale whimpered as Crowley bodily picked him up, gently laying him on the couch. It was so charming, so tender a gesture that Aziraphale didn’t want to leave his arms, he pawed at the archangel’s suit, the softest charcoal grey sliding between his fingers. Already the colours of the world seemed dimmer.

“No love, this wasn’t you. This is so far from your fault. If I ever see Gabriel again, I'll tear him apart feather by feather.” He promised. Aziraphale was crying more heavily now. “I’m sorry, angel. I am so sorry for what I’ve put you through. All of Heaven wasn’t worth losing you, not for an instant. Please, please stop crying.” He said, looking around helplessly.

His eyes alighted on a pile of empty wine bottles. He could smell that they were fresh. “Are you drunk, angel?” He frowned, hoping beyond hope that was what had him in such a state.

“I wasn’t drinking.” He bleated. It was true, he couldn’t smell a drop on him.

"Was someone here love? Someone else?" He asked, running a hand through his blonde hair, grown longer in his absence. So many of Aziraphale’s little frills were missing. He was in a shirt, no bowtie, no waistcoat, no coat. His signet ring was vanished and a slight beard was starting to tickle at his cheek as he pressed closer.

Crowley frowned in confusion as Aziraphale started to sob in earnest. 

“You took so long. I thought you were gone and ... I couldn’t do it anymore. I’m so stupid.” He moaned. “I’m so sorry, my love.” He made himself focus on Crowley’s face.

"Who was here, angel? What have you done?" He demanded, cupping his face and staring into his eyes. They were growing unfocused, almost drugged. Aziraphale was clearly fighting to keep Crowley in sight.

Crowley sniffed at him again, searching desperately for a clue. The only scents on him were paper and fresh ink. He glanced around wildly, something dark catching his eye. He glanced at Aziraphale and stood, snatching up the dark feather from the desk. He could not remember his dark wings, but he knew in an instant that it was one of his own, large enough to be a secondary. He could almost feel an ache in the spot it had shed from.

He laid it down again and picked up the letter. “Well it’s a little awkward ... you see I didn’t even think you’d find it after. I thought maybe Anathema might come searching eventually, or Gabriel.” Aziraphale said, his words growing indistinct.

“What does it say, Aziraphale?” He demanded. Aziraphale gave a distant smile. "You forgot me and you were at peace. That's all I wanted, to forget." He hummed.

"What have you done?" He asked again, going to crouch by his side.

“I can give you these back, before I go. Remember me well?” He murmured, reaching up to kiss him. The same energy as their kiss in Heaven passed between them, from Aziraphale to Crowley. All the memories he’d given him for safe keeping flashed through him in an instant. He whimpered as the memories forced their way into his mind, drowning him, smashing Gabriel’s fail safes to kindling.

“Where are you going Aziraphale?” He whispered, unable to bring himself to read what he already suspected to be written there. He couldn’t look at a suicide note.

"I sold my soul, Love." Aziraphale hiccuped.

It was only then that Crowley smelled them under the wine and all the pain that suffused the air. The memory of their scent was still submerged, last smelled with a demon's nose, but there was no mistaking them now. Beelzebub had been here. Crowley had been so preoccupied with the threat from Heaven, that he had never considered a threat from below. His dear angel had courted his own destruction. He was falling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter coming up in the next few days


	7. Paradise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was a great rumbling in heaven...
> 
> Crowley remembers and he'll save his angel even if there's hell to pay

There was a great rumbling in heaven.

“Gabriel!” Uriel warned, terror clear in her tone. He curled his lip in distain at her and her mouth was covered in the same pale material that bound her hands. She bowed her head, leaning into Michael’s side where they knelt. Their posture remained stiff, defiant under Gabriel’s glare. The two of them were being kept on a platform below his in the great hall, above the heads of all the assembled angel’s so they could see what became of traitors, no matter their rank.  
A tearing sound shivered along the halls, nipping at the feet of a guard who ran down the central aisle of the congregation. He panted, barely able to contain the news behind the expected customs of addressing Gabriel on high.  
“It’s the Second Gate, Sir!” The angel blurted; panic etched into every line of his youthful face. Gabriel sighed distastefully and waved a hand. The angel skidded to an unnatural halt, held in place by Gabriel’s whim.

“Name?” He demanded.  
“Uhh Hadraniel, Sir.” He bleated.  
“Well uhh Hadranial, have you forgotten where you are?” Gabriel asked, lounging on a throne gaudy enough to put the one in Crowley’s study to shame.  
“No, Sir.” He admitted, blushing deeply.  
“Then I expect you to behave in a manner appropriate to your station, if you wish to keep it.” He said severely.  
“Report.” He ordered. The angel swallowed,  
“I was guarding the Second gate, Sir.” He informed him, eyes wide as he relived what he had seen. Michael glanced sideways at Uriel, they already knew what was coming. Neither of them expected to survive it.

“And why did you abandon your post?” Gabriel asked.  
“It doesn’t exist anymore.” Hadraniel explained.  
“What happened to it?” He asked, frowning.  
“…The archangel Raphael, Sir. He came through carrying another angel.” He paled.  
“Why were they not restrained?” Gabriel demanded.  
“They’re in true form, Sir. My legion tried to stop them... “  
“What happened?"  
"I ran sir, and I survived. Raphael has unleashed his wrath, Sir. May God help you, Sir."  
Gabriel curled his fist and the angel before him dissolved, smote in his quiet rage. 

He rose to his feet and smoothed down his suit. “Anyone else who abandons their post, will not survive it.” He roared. “I want a battalion down here yesterday.” Under his inhuman, purple stare, legions marched into the halls, taking up defensive positions between the threat and the tyrant on his paper throne. Whispers ran among the angels. Where were the other archangels? Were Jegudiel and Phanuel trussed up like Michael and hidden away? Were they still breathing? It was clear that Gabriel was in no fit state.

A voice reverberated through the head of every angel in the room. It wasn’t spoken, and it didn’t travel through the air like any other voice and it was in no language any human had ever heard. It roared directly into the beings of the assembled angels.  
‘IT’S TOO LATE FOR THAT, GABRIEL. I’M ALREADY HERE.’

Raphael raised himself to his full, towering form in the centre of the hall. There was a commotion as weapons of light discharged all around him. They dematerialised before they ever got within range. Hundreds of wings splayed out behind him defensively, shining down and blinding them all. His light was overwhelming, as golden as the eyes of his corporeal form. Gabriel squinted and, surely enough, there was the shining blue of Aziraphale’s true form curled against the archangel. Even a principality was dwarfed by the majesty of the archangel.  
‘I WILL SPEAK WITH HER, OR I WILL SMITE YOU ALL.’ It commanded. It was the same voice that had compelled whole galaxies into being, angels across the hall fell to their knees, unable to resist its will. Only Michael and Gabriel kept their postures, but the strain of it was visible in the lines of their faces.

Gabriel squared his shoulders, despite the weight pulling on him. “She won’t be seeing you today Raphael. Or are we Crowley at the minute?” He asked, dropping down onto the platform below. He took Michaels’s chin roughly and twisted it toward the archangel. They wrinkled their nose, unable to jerk away from the vice-like grip. “Either way, you’ve caused quite a stir. Stand down, let yourself forget, everyone will be safe." He promised.

‘SAFE? LOOK AT HIM! LOOK AT WHAT YOU’VE DRIVEN HIM TO.’ It demanded when the answer he wanted never came. Somewhere in him, the mortal mind cringed at betraying his fellow mutineers, leaving them to Gabriel's mercy. But they had let this reality unfold, they had stood by as Aziraphale lost everything his own mercy was just as stunted. Nothing but Aziraphale mattered now, ever would again. Gabriel couldn’t help but look at the smaller angel as he was commanded. The tips of Aziraphale’s wings, beset with hundreds of eyes, were greying.

“Finally.” Gabriel sighed, eyes wild with glee “He gets away with six thousand years of sloth, gluttony, covetousness, of loving a demon, allowing himself to be defiled and a few months of pining is what finally plucks his feathers.” He rejoiced. Sandalphon smirked at his side as Gabriel dropped down to the ground.

Crowley roared wordlessly, the windows along the hall reducing to sand with the force of his anger. The celestial winds blew in, scattering the sharp ashes across the vast halls. Suddenly Sandalphon looked much less amused. He sank to one knee, panting in an effort not to cower to the floor with the lesser angels. “Get. Up.” Gabriel hissed. Sandalphon huffed, forcing their way back to two feet, but their vessel rippled with effort, grey light seeping from their pores.  
“Can I?” They panted, wanting nothing more than to collide with the archangel, prove himself worthy of his promised promotion. Gabriel shook his head. “We will not indulge these creatures, and we will not sink to their level.” He said. Sandalphon inhaled deeply and the light faded as he mastered himself.

‘COWARD. YOU WILL NOT TAKE HIM FROM ME. I WILL NOT ALLOW IT.’ Crowley thrashed.  
“It wasn’t me who took his soul, it’s your old friends.” Gabriel shrugged distastefully.  
‘I WILL TELL THEM ALL OF YOUR UNSEEMLY BED FELLOWS.’ Crowley threatened. Anger finally broke over Gabriel's face. The other angels in the hall dared not make comment.

There was a brief pause as Gabriel’s eyes glowed an unearthly purple and his form rippled like an illusion on water. His true form unfurled, towering in the endless height of the hall. His earlier comment to Sandalphon evidently forgotten. The great being swayed in hesitation, realising how much larger Raphael was than himself. They had not stood toe to toe like this since long before the earth had come into being.

‘DID YOU FORGET GABRIEL? YOU WERE A REPLACEMENT. I FELL AND YOU TRIED TO FULFILL MY ROLE, YOU HAD THE GALL TO THINK YOU EVER COULD. STAND DOWN OR I WILL END YOU.’ Crowley promised. He could feel the rot spreading through Aziraphale’s being where he crashed him. He didn't have the time to soothe Gabriel's ego. Being in heaven was slowing the process of falling, but not enough. When the darkness reached Aziraphale's heart, it would be too late.

He pulled Aziraphale’s being closer to his own, the towering being that had guarded Eden so small against his own angelic form. If he had to go through Gabriel, he didn’t want Aziraphale harmed. Gabriel saw the movement, saw the tell of where Crowley’s weakness lay as he cradled him tenderly. He launched himself at the pair of them, determined to rip then apart once and for all.  
Crowley rebuffed him with a sharply drawn down wing, Gabriel skidding off him and spinning away. The sound was like the clash of swords reverberating throughout Heaven. 

Gabriel roared in frustration, ready to pounce again from behind. There came a great tearing as they collided. He had managed to wrench a fist full of glowing feathers away from Crowley's ethereal plumage. Crowley hissed, sounding more demon than angel. He twisted to face him, keeping him in his line of sight. He couldn’t attack, no matter how much he longed to, not while he held his angel.

An unnatural calm spread throughout the room. Crowley sank instantly to the ground, floored by the contentment that smothered his anger, his rage. He kept the smaller angel shielded in his arms. Gabriel tried to resist longer, not realising who he was defying. “Return to your form Gabriel.” Said a quiet voice. In a moment the hall was restored to its prior brilliance. Gabriel’s purple energy gave a few more pulses before receding back into his corporeal form’s eyes. He rolled his neck in the restrictive skin. He always forgot how freeing it felt to be in his true form.

Crowley too began to shrink but the source of the voice held up a small human hand to stop him “Only if you feel safe enough, Crowley.” She soothed. It took a moment, but soon Crowley was kneeling over Aziraphale’s pale body, both of them shifted into their corppreal forms.

“Lord.” He croaked; deferential tone suffused by pain. “Please, he hasn’t much time.” He begged. She walked over to him, such power repressed into a human form, she had no race, no trait that your mind could grasp, only a vague humanity that trailed through your fingers when you tried to grasp it. They were made in her image because she could have been any of them, you could have walked by her on the street and the only thing you would notice was a pervading sense of peace. The chances were you had passed her many a time.

The Almighty folded herself into a kneeling position and laid a hand on Aziraphale's forehead. He stirred fretfully in Crowley's arms; the divine touch warring with a routing soul. "He gave it freely." She said, confusion in Her tone. "This was not how it was supposed to be. Why would you allow this to happen Crowley?" She asked, turning Her impossible face to him.

“I wasn't Crowley at the time. Gabriel saw to that." He muttered. Somehow, without any facial features, She gave Crowley a searching look and touched his cheek. A light, gentle and colourless, infiltrated his mind, illuminating shadows he had not noticed before.

"You've had a cowboy in here many times. I'm surprised you can remember enough to love him so." She hummed, passing through his ruined mind.  
"There's ... There's more?" He asked. The pain he felt for Aziraphale was so overwhelming, so total that he could not imagine there being a greater depth of feeling to exist. How could this only be a fraction of his love when it had driven him into Heaven prepared for an all-out assault.

"First, Aziraphale." She said, cupping his cheeks in her hands. "He has always been one of my dear ones. Not an archangel, but a principality. Not powerful in the traditional way, but fundamentally good, hungry for knowledge and expertise. Perhaps the only angel who can truly enjoy the world I made " She hummed.

"No! My Lord I must insist you leave him to his fate. He has defied you at every step, betrayed you. He consorted with your enemies. He deserves to fall." Gabriel snapped, finding his tongue.  
"Stand down Gabriel ... You're disobeying " Michael hissed, gag suddenly vanished. The Almighty watched his outbreak mildly, like an indulgent grandparent watching a toddler scream in a supermarket.

"They both belong in the pit. Aziraphale's soul should have been forfeit for saving Raphael's in the first place." He continued, wild eyed.  
"Lord?" Crowley asked. "He hasn't got much time. If one soul has to pay for another, let it be mine. Cast me out and keep him in your grace." He begged.  
"It wouldn't be like last time, Crowley. They would torture you for eternity and you may never understand why. If memory tricks are played here, you can be sure they will be played down below." She said softly. 

Crowley swallowed, feeling Aziraphale's body growing warm in his arms. "It’s a price I would pay willingly, in this moment to know he'll be protected from Heaven and Hell alike." He said, absolute conviction in his tone. A shocked ripple ran through the ranks of assembled angels at the thought anyone would need protecting from Heaven. They went unheeded.

"Crowley my dear, he would just try to follow you. He's proven he can't live without you even when you're in a better place. I won't have him risk himself like this again." She said.  
Her hands caressed Aziraphale's tormented face and his sleep eased. His familiar, involuntary tide of love started to radiate from him again. Crowley gave a grateful sob and raised him to touch their foreheads together tenderly. Already the unnatural heat that had been smouldering away in him receded. When he lowered him, he felt a hand in his hair, too small to be Aziraphale's. The Almighty was shining a light through his mind once more. Images obscured came into focus.

“How many times are we going to do this, Crowley?” the sight of Aziraphale leaning over him, despair ripping him apart, being lashed to a table in the pits of hell, the M25, Aziraphale crying out in pleasure beneath him, the globe theatre packed to the rafters, a hand written note igniting in a pond, a Thermos flask. Tarmac breaking apart in thick chunks at an airbase, a raised champagne flute at The Ritz.

Alone the images made no sense as they flashed by in their thousands. When viewed together, they were a tapestry of earth's history. Woven throughout the fabric of reality were two lives destined to be joined and savoured, destined to be at peace. He could see the underlying plan as clearly as if it were written in a child's hand, chunky crayon letters and sweeps showing him every twist and turn. Her hand was gone from his hair, but her love lingered there.

He was right. The pain was so much wider, the relief so much sweeter. Every angel in the room wondered at the wave of emotion Crowley unleashed. Only the almighty weathered it with a smile.

"It seems that, in my absence, you have taken it upon yourself to do a great many things, Gabriel." She said, finally turning her attention to him. The angel only stuttered. "My children are not to be harmed or molested in any way. If I hear of one more plot or interference, there will be a balancing of the souls, another angel burning." She promised, and there was the wrath of God. It wasn't hot like a demon's or icy as an angel's, it was made of life in all its ineffable and myriad forms. It was terrible and just, grieving and beautiful. It was eternal, the quiet power of it could have unstitched every atom in the universe with a single thought. Crowley didn't give it a second glance; he was only looking at the angel in his arms.

Aziraphale’s body was fully cooled now, the keen tongues of hellfire receding. His eyes opened and Crowley tightened his arms around him in warning as he took in the scene surrounding him. "Mother?" He whispered. She smiled, her wrath at Gabriel disspating as she looked down at him. He felt her smile move through him, healing the singed edges of his soul, covering them in a balm of love.. "It's over now Aziraphale, when you wake, you shall both be safe. Thank you, Aziraphale, for savouring my earth." She whispered.

"Was I right?" He asked boldly, his head supported on Crowley's shoulder.  
“Yes Aziraphale. You did wonderfully, followed the plan to the letter." She didn't smile so much as project the purest form of pride and gratitude into his being. It overflowed from him, pooling around them, trickling down to the other angels in attendance. The scent of it carried across the hall in a golden wave.

Relieved, his eyes slid up to Crowley’s "Oh there you are." he smiled, as if he were the most magnificent thing in the room. "I've rather missed you." He said in a small voice.

"Rest now." She said, willing him back to sleep before his mind could catch up with him. As loyal as ever, Aziraphale slipped into a deep sleep as his soul knitted back together.  
"He will remember everything. You both will." She said as they watched him for a moment.

"Raphael ... Crowley. You have always been my most trusted lieutenant. You created the heavens, you endured Hell and you protected the earth. It is my gift to you. Go forth and live in it, with all the powers of Heaven at your disposal, forevermore." It was more than a request or permission. It was a commandment as solemn and binding as any she had ever carved into stone.

"I have missed you by my side and I would not suffer the loss of you again for anyone less worthy than Aziraphale. You are each a gift for the other, designed to be worthy of the highest honour, immortal humanity." She said.   
He could only nod, the weight of his angel against him a solid reminder of all they had done. Before he could speak, She kissed his forehead and he too slipped into dreaming.

***

Crowley awoke to the feeling of a mattress shifting beside him. Aziraphale's comfortable weight pressing into him. For a moment he felt as though he were somehow woken from a deep and restorative sleep and the worst nightmare of his existence all at once. He didn't open his eyes until he heard the angel give a started squeak and feel him crawl quickly away across the bed.

"Mmm 'ziraphale?" He hummed, opening his eyes. His body stretched into the buttery morning light, unfolding as though he had hibernated another century away, maybe he had.

"No. Not a word. Whatever you are, whatever game this is, I will not hear a word of it." He said, trying to get to his feet and wincing as a pain shivered along his body.  
"Aziraphale?" He asked in concern, reaching for him. He froze mid movement as the memories filtered into his waking mind. Aziraphale's eyes widened as he too felt The Alnightys memories pouring into him, more add a certainty tinged with nostalgia than an image.  
"I'm not in hell." He breathed  
"No " Crowley agreed.  
"Am I dead?" He asked, tentatively crawling back onto the bed. He rushed around. It certainly looked like the bedroom above his bookshop, but that was always what his personal paradise had looked like, residually with cruelty in it, looking at him like that.  
"Why angel, do you think you're in heaven?" Crowley smiled.

Aziraphale looked at him with wide eyes, falling upon him with all the heat and pain and love he had ever felt. They were home. And, in time, they would discover their wings were nether black of Hell nor white of Heaven, but glowed the colour of their true forms, Aziraphale a storm soaked blue and Crowley a buttery gold. They were on their own side, rejoicing in their own Eden that they carried within them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for sticking with this story despite all the angst and thank you for all your lovely comments x


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